A few years ago I took my first college course (English 102) in 26 years. I was at mid-term and learned that I had a B plus going at mid-term despite the fact of the 26 years and despite the fact that the average age of my classmates was far less than half my own (sorry, I am proud of this)….so I was all giddy and excited sitting in class-- supposed to be taking lecture notes and this is what I wrote.
To Antigone and Beyond
I'm shaking, squirming, out of sorts,
incredibly befuddled.
I'm taking notes in fits and spurts
my concentration muddled.
Antigone was on my mind,
and then, her lovely sister
Ismene, but then I find
she’s wed an anarchist--er.
Approaching writing full of fear,
my inner diction airy,
I start my poem late in March,
I'll end in February.
Statement: Sorry, I didn't say it was any good.
Question: What’s wrong with me?
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